


Slow, Love, Slow

by ButDidYouDieTho



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Anxiety, F/F, Healing, Just as planned, Puppet-master Ana, SO MUCH TEA, Tracer being an awkward ball of well-meaning but impatient energy, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButDidYouDieTho/pseuds/ButDidYouDieTho
Summary: A newly-freed Widowmaker is still carrying a little too much baggage to be the real person Tracer wants her to be just yet, so Wise Old Crone Ana Amari steps in





	

_By the time Widowmaker circled back around to where her victim lay under explicit orders to personally identify her kills whenever possible, night had fully fallen on the tiny Greek village. Though the alley was now deeply shadowed, sharp yellow eyes surveyed it with the clarity of a cat watching for mice in the dark — only, this time, her prey was nowhere to be found. Only a worn, bloodstained coat remained, jagged strips of cloth hastily cut from it. Widowmaker gritted her teeth, more than a mere ghost of engineered fury once again rising in her throat, followed by a rush of achingly natural excitement. She knelt down, searching for fabric untouched by blood, and cut a strip of her own to wrap tight around her wrist before departing with a smile._

\---

For the first time in almost a decade, Gibraltar was once again a scurry of activity. The base never came close to its peak population prior to the passage of the Petras Act, but enough of the old crew — techs, nurses, mechanics, soldiers, even a ship captain or two — had found their way back to the newly formed and blandly named International Inc., a private military company, just another group of anonymous mercenaries untouchable by the authorities who just _happened_ to be renting a former Overwatch installation.

"Can't be vigilantes if we're getting paid for it," Morrison had said with a laugh when the idea was first broached. "Even if it's barely enough to keep the lights on."

For its residents, it was starting to feel like a home again, a haven for the lost, the disowned, and the bizarre, for those who needed to belong just as much, if not more than they needed to feel like they were helping the world. And it didn't get much more lost, disowned, or bizarre than Amélie Lacroix.

Of course she'd been the first major project tabled once they had everything up and running and enough resources for the plan to be realistically successful. After the Mondatta assassination, Lena had insisted that they analyze the comm traffic she'd recorded from the area. She was no communications expert, but her years as a combat pilot had taught her well how dangerous hijacked signals could be, and sure enough they'd found not only the Talon VTOL's signature, but a blood-chillingly particular secondary signal as well. The accusations of treason immediately stopped.

The rescue went more smoothly than they'd ever hoped, more than they'd planned or prepared for. A covertly arranged firefight and a jammed visor later and suddenly Talon thugs were dropping like flies from clean bullet holes in the backs of their heads. In a deadpan French drawl, Widowmaker actually _thanked_ them as they cuffed her, asked them what took them so long, even detailed her immediate medical needs. More than a few mouths hung agape and uncomprehending on the flight back to Gibraltar. The rescue was easy. Everything that came after, less so.

Even after the confirmation of remote mind-control, even after the removal of all the mechanisms allowing it, few could bring themselves to trust her. No amount of medical reports or executive orders could buy forgetfulness, much less forgiveness for the Widowmaker's crimes. Many of the base's soldiers had comrades she'd been made to kill, or at least had helped those who did. Much of the medical staff had seen her work first-hand. That all of it had been against her will, even after the mental and physical reconditioning, had barely managed to penetrate into the primal, irrational parts of their minds. They might have understood on an intellectual level, but nothing could prevent bile from rising in the throats of those she passed. Most assumed the two armed guards that escorted her everywhere for the first few months were for their protection, never imagining, of course, that they were for hers.

It didn't help when the unanimously-affirmed report came out of the medical wing announcing that her reconditioning was largely irreversible. Freed and reformed she may have been, but the old Amélie was gone. It would always be those same reflective yellow eyes staring back at them, that same cold, emotionless voice hissing from her pale mouth. Even to those accustomed to oddities, she was a walking nightmare.

The older members were quicker to accept her back into the fold, and the senior officer's lounge had become one of the only safe, welcoming places on the base for her. Many had known or met her before her kidnapping, and most had never quite believed she'd turned traitor willingly. Of the younger crowd, only Lena regularly advocated for Amélie's defense. Of course her closer friends were pretty sure why, but they kept quiet about it. It wasn't the first tragic crush the poor girl had developed, after all.

\---

For six long months Ana had been out in the field. Six long months of nothing but barely-purified water, dry rations, and desert dust. It was nothing new, of course, but she was starting to feel her age. An unusual feeling of relief filled her as she ambled toward her quarters, showered, changed into casual fatigues, and made for the officer's mess hall. At such a late hour she hadn't expected much company, but to her pleasant surprise she found most of the old team and a handful of the new sprawled on various furniture throughout the room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hanging heavy in the air. She was less pleasantly surprised when they turned to look at her with sudden terror in their eyes, as if she was holding a rifle to each of their heads.

"What's with the looks?" she scoffed. "You didn't think I was dead again, did you?" No one answered. She scanned the room, tense faces and averted stares everywhere she turned, until her attention reached the far corner. A strange woman sat at a low coffee table with her back to Ana, her features obscured by exceptionally modest clothing and a loose cascade of long, dark hair. "New recruit?"

"Non."

And suddenly everyone in the room shifted almost imperceptibly forward, as if readying themselves to restrain Ana if necessary. Angela, meek little Angela, spoke up first. "Now Ana, kapitän, we can explain," she said, holding her hand low and flat in front of her in the same way hostage negotiators were trained to do.

Ana narrowed her eye, hummed cryptically, then casually strolled toward the tea cabinet. _Her_ tea cabinet. She quietly busied herself with selecting the right blend, readying her cup, dragging the kettle over to the stove with practiced, automatic motions. Just as the water started to boil, though, she broke her silence. " Amélie, dear," she called, her back still towards the stranger. "Would you like a cup?"

Mouths fell open, eyes went wider than they already were. Reinhardt, that stalwart German giant, let his coffee mug slip out of his grasp, falling an inch or two to the table in front of him with a deep thud. Ana did not share her tea. Ana did _not_ share her tea. Even back in the old days when her temper had been significantly milder, she'd once caught a young officer sneaking some from her private stash — and had summarily reprimanded him by filling the offending hand full of lead from her sidearm with a shining smile on her face. If she hadn't been second-in-command, if it hadn't taken a mere hour in a nano-oven to completely repair the man's hand, she might've been court-martialed for it.

Amélie hesitated, though she couldn't have known the full significance of the offer. The eye she took was no doubt more than reason enough. "Something mild, s'il vous plaît, if you have it," she finally murmured in response, something approaching shyness creeping into her voice.

\---

The two women sat across from each other in renewed silence for a long, long time, each sipping gingerly at their cups. Tension still hung in the air throughout the room, but the others had for the most part returned to their own conversations and televisions and holo-tablets. Amélie frowned as she caught her reflection in her tea, briefly wondering if concealer was even worth attempting.

"You'll not be joining us officially, then?" Ana said, finally breaking the silence.

"Non. I refuse to be made a weapon again. For anyone."

"A shame," Ana shrugged. "Your skills are top-notch. I should know, hm?"

Amélie flinched, but Ana's smile remained warm, if unreadable. It was the first time she'd seen Ana Amari's smile in person, Amélie realized. It was worn, but undeniably handsome. She found herself wishing she could smile like that.

"I do admire your convictions, though." A pause. "Your tea must be cold by now."

Amélie took an inquisitive sip, genuinely unable to tell. This elicited another frown, but also a thought. "I would like to see you again," she said quietly, almost a whisper, her hands clasped firmly on her lap.

It was Ana's turn to flash an infinitesimally brief moment of shock on her face.

\---

For the first time in a very long while Amélie's pulse was racing, all from pacing furiously at the door to the empty conference room. Every day they had met there for lunch, and on one occasion a late-night dinner, but today Ana was _late._ Even Amélie was unsure whether the scowl she wore was more from impatience or shame that such a calm, experienced sniper should feel impatient in the first place. Her frayed nerves weren't improved any by a familiar cheery cry from behind her.

"Oi, hiya!" Lena chirped, her expression warm but overeager. "It's been a while, yeah? If you're lost, I could, y'know, walk with you? Wherever you need to be, I'm your pilot!" she added with a mock salute.

Amélie tried to stifle her scowl, really she did. On any other day she might've succeeded, but standing out in the hall alone for so long as so many unfriendly strangers passed by had left her feeling cornered and bare.

To her credit, Lena eventually got the hint and switched tactics. "Hey, hey. _Whatcha lookin' at?_ " she said with a grin, offering the first half of what had become something of a regular, almost flirtatious exchange on the battlefield.

Amélie's face fell. She desperately wanted to give her usual response, wanted to express her gratitude for Lena's unerring faith and for her part in her rescue, but..

For perhaps the only time Amélie had yet witnessed, Lena went statue-still at the sudden presence of a hand on her tiny shoulder. "I'll be escorting Miss Lacroix for now, lieutenant, but your concern is appreciated," Ana said with a chuckle. In a whisper too low for Amélie to hear, she added, " _Be patient._ " Lena put on her sourest puppy-dog pout before finally relenting and wandering off, throwing a long glance back over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner.

"You are late," Amélie muttered accusingly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and back again.

Ana reached out and squeezed Amélie's arm. "I'm sorry, dear, Jack was being.. difficult. But it's nothing you need to worry over." She had barely finished speaking before Amélie was dragging her by the sleeve into the conference room and heading straight for the window on the far wall. "Oh. Crowds still make you uncomfortable, don't they?"

Amélie nodded stiffly, thin shoulders heaving with long, deep breaths. "It is nothing."

"It took me a long time to stop seeing a knife up every sleeve too, Amélie. Give it time."

"It did not used to be like this. I performed in front of thousands. I attended art galas, drank fine wine — not the pig-swill the doctor and her pet bird tried to serve me!" Amélie spat, almost immediately clenching her fist and squeezing her eyes shut in a swirl of pain, frustration, and exertion. "I'm sorry, I did not mean that. They chose well, it should have been exquisite, but—"

"But you couldn't taste it, could you." It was not a question.

Amélie felt Ana's arms wrap around her, and she couldn't help but note they were stronger and more muscular than they looked. Up close Ana, too, was taller than she had appeared now that she was no longer slouching. "It is not everything," Amélie said, gently pulling away. "Meat is the same. Tea, too, though if it is too strong it burns my throat."

"You're always welcome to mine. You know where I keep it."

"Mm," hummed Amélie absentmindedly, followed by a subtle, devilish curl of her lips. "Perhaps they should have given me a much older vintage to start out with."

\---

On the day before she was to ship out again, Ana found Amélie leaning against a cliffside railing staring out to sea towards the tangerine sunset. Her hair, still unbound, whipped across her face with the gusting ocean breeze.

"Not planning on jumping, I hope," Ana said, handing over a thermos of tea.

"Non. But finally having the choice is.."

"Comforting?"

Amélie closed her eyes and wrapped her coat tighter around her body. "Oui. Très réconfortant. Is that wrong?"

Ana shrugged. "Hold tight to whatever comforts you."

"Whatever comforts me," Amélie echoed, staring down at her thermos and then briefly over at Ana.

"Jack tells me you'll be allowed to stay here, as a civilian."

"For as long as the organization exists. As he says, in memory of.. in memory of--"

"You don't have to say it."

"If I had somewhere else to go, I would. Most here revile me." Amélie tilted her head. "Ne pa vous?"

"A long time ago, perhaps. But now, to be quite honest," Ana said with what could almost be described as a girlish grin, "there's something endearing about having tea with the only sniper to have ever taken me down."

Amélie frowned and looked away. "It was not by choice."

Ana laughed, deep and husky. "It's the skill, dear, not the intention. That can't be manufactured."

Amélie remained stone-faced. "Someday I would like to be known for something other than my ability to kill."

Again Ana's expression turned unreadable, but Amélie thought she detected hints of equal parts surprise and pride. "I hear you were quite the dancer, too."

"Mm, I was," Amélie hummed, remembering with some amusement the gossiping whispers within the Geneva ballet company of a mysterious tattooed soldier regularly glimpsed with her arm around their instructor. "But I am not that person anymore, and I do not wish to be."

Ana turned her head away and, just for a moment, brought her hand up to touch the edge of the eye-patch before falling back to the railing. "You know, I said nearly the same thing to Jack once. You might be the only person I've met who understands that."

Amélie didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she slid her hand along the railing until she could just brush against Ana's with her pinky. Ana made no indication of noticing, but there was that same inscrutable smile again. Something about it frustrated Amélie, and frustration had always bred boldness in her. Whether out of genuine desire, or the need to prove a point to Ana, or to herself, she leaned in.

"Miss Lacroix," Ana spoke quietly, but with no hint of harshness. "As much as I would take pleasure in helping you remember how to be human for her, don't you think you're a little young to be trying to kiss lonely old women you barely know, hm?"

Something bright and hungry and _alive_ flashed in  Amélie's eyes. "You speak as if we do not have _history,_ " the Widowmaker hissed. "I have lived two excruciating lifetimes and seen enough death for a hundred more. I have earned that much, at least."

Ana chuckled, hot breath on icy lips. "So you have."

\---

Lena had a bad habit of kicking her legs when she was feeling especially impatient, an old track runner's neurosis, but she couldn't bring herself to take a run to clear her head like she usually did. For no other reason than stubbornness she had resolved to sit there on one bench, unmoving for at least an hour every day, even if her kicking and scuffing was wearing a hole in her shoes. If Amélie could sit still for hours on end, so could she.

"An annoyance," came a soft voice from behind her.

Lena snapped around, more out of pent-up energy than surprise. "Wha—"

" _An annoyance,_ " Amélie repeated, giving her best attempt at a genuine smile.

As understanding slowly dawned a blindingly sunny grin broke across Lena's face. It took all her effort not to shout and leap at Amélie, but by some miracle she held herself back. She _would_ be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the outline for this before we knew Emily existed, so uh.. let's just say they had an amicable break-up once Tracer moved back to Gibraltar full-time.


End file.
